The Russian Affair
by Monkeybandit2
Summary: Unfortunately not all espionage missions are cut and dry...


**We are all aware of this by now: If I owned anything, 009-1 in this particular case, then there wouldn't be a disclaimer! This story is for entertainment purposes only! Get with the program already! (Sulks in a corner somewhere.)**

**By the way... FIRST ENTRY INTO THIS PARTICULAR SERIES! BWAHAHAHAHA!**

The Russian Affair

Chapter 1: Mission

Room Three-one-eight (318), Blue Leaf Apartment Complex, Verbine, Maine, United States of America

When it snowed in Verbine, it snowed hard. The streets and the only school, an elementary school for that matter, had to be closed down much to certain people's, most of which children, delight.

Unfortunately she could not be counted as one of those who were enjoying the snow day, snow months actually if the weather reports were correct, as she watched him get ready for work, ever wishing his sometimes annoying naivety of honor an agreement would be ignored for just a day to spend it with her, keeping her _warm_, and _happy_ in the only way _he_ could provide. At least he didn't forget her before, during, and after his near daily routine of getting ready for work.

"Your breakfast, _mademoiselle_." She couldn't help but smirk every time he exaggerated a French accent whenever he said that. It was cheesy, stupid even if she was in a bad enough mood, but lovable all the same no matter the situation. Her smirk grew into a smile as the bed tray sat just above her blanketed lap, laden with the near clichéd servings of a western breakfast consisting of pancakes served with strawberry syrup, eggs benedict on sliced biscuits, and a pair of sausage links on a plate accompanied by a glass of orange juice. Even when presented with breakfast in bed a soft whine escaped her nonetheless, her lips twisted into a pouting frown for added effect much to his soft chuckling amusement. "I'm sorry but I did promise to watch over the store today..." Soft, admittedly selfish brown eyes looked up to him with the pout still in place and bore into him with the near spoken need to have him there, _in the bed_, _giving her_ all of his attention.

She would've smiled if she could as he bent over and met her lips with his own, though she knew it was a wordless apology meant to sate her wants however briefly... it was a small enough opening for her. The kiss was slow, appeasing and loving just like the one that came before it when the clock next to the bed awoke the two much to their combined displeasure. She moaned softly as it gradually deepened, ensured so with her arm up and slowly circling around his neck to pull him closer to her to which he grabbed the headboard to keep himself from toppling over her by accident. Her tongue slipped out between them and gently licked his lips, a mewl of a moan humming in her throat as she licked them again, her arm fastening ever tighter around his neck as her tongue found entry while pulling him further into the bed with only a mild heed to his waning reluctance to the issue. Her spare hand with conscious effort narrowly avoided the glass of juice that awaited her, not to mention the tray itself, and fisted itself in his shirt as he dipped ever lower as his original reason for leaving the bed became dimmer in the passing seconds turned minutes. Her hand unclenched itself from his shirt and sought out the buttons that held it in place, each one falling to nimble fingers on a mission that grew heavier with impassioned desires the further she kissed him and dragged him down to his knees with his hand almost falling off the headboard.

_Brriiiiing!_

With the sounding of the phone she almost cursed aloud when he broke the kiss and stumbled back slightly thanks to the awkwardness of him being on his knees, his breath ragged and heavy as her own was... his eyes holding a shine of regret and an unvoiced begging of forgiveness as the phone broke him out of the stupor. "Damn it," she quietly voiced as he got up and answered the phone.

She merely rested her head against the headboard and closed her eyes in a muted sulking of what could've been, her hearing picking up the distinct clues cementing her mild suspicions as to who was calling at this particular _hour_.

In any event, that persistent trait she had nearly conquered for at least a day was now awake and back in full force. "Pozhaluysta, ne ukhodi...(*1)" she said so lowly that it went unheard by the only other occupant in the room. The dull "_clack_" of the phone hanging up all but guaranteed its silence.

Her lost smile returned in much gentler tones when he came back, leaned over the bed, and planted a gentle kiss upon her cheek to which she pleasantly hummed to as he made for the door. "I'll be back in a few hours!" he called out.

"I'll keep the bed warm for us," she called back, her smile brightening slightly as she imagined a small blush now warming his cheeks as he left her alone in their apartment. Alone with nothing but a now somber drive and a cooling plate of her breakfast for company.

"Chetyre - Trinadtsat', doklad! (*2)" Had she been anyone else then it she would've stood ridged in her bed with her hands virtually choking the bed sheets that kept her decent. At the most she glanced at one of a pair of brass earrings that held a small amber colored sphere at the end. Neither of which did she take off save for exceptionally rare occasions.

"Chetyre - Trinadtsat' otchetnosti ser, (*3)" she spoke up with a cool efficiency befitting of her station.

"Lyubyye novosti o deyatel'nosti Zapadnogo bloka? (*4)" As blunt as ever, her designated number aside that is... had it not been a secured frequency she would've wondered how he came to his position considering their careers.

"Eto to zhe samoye , ser. Yedinstvennoye izmeneniye, kotoroye yest' to, chto seychas idet sneg za moim oknom. (*5)"

As much as she wanted to lie through a secure channel, she knew she couldn't. She sagged against the wood and the wires that helped make up the mattress beneath her as discreetly as she could as to not "upset" her... employer. Not that it mattered anyway. She knew what was come next...

Frankly it was nothing short of a miracle that this... dream last as long as it did as she used every excuse she had to stall the inevitable let alone go on as long as it did without incident.

"Ochen' khorosho. Soobshchit' obratno v Germaniyu dlya perenaznacheniya v techeniye mesyatsa. (*6)"

For the longest time she did not move, nor twitch, nor even blinked as her eyes somberly opened and dully stared at the ceiling, the spit within her mouth becoming more vile in taste even as she tried to reason with her elegiac self. She dared not to look about the apartment as he gaze finally settled upon the meal once eagerly presented to her, a bittersweet smile trying to press itself upon her features upon doing so which she tried to suppress by arming herself with the silverware found on the tray.

As she gave what was undoubtedly a now cold dish a look over to assess the damage wrought by neglect between her own wants and the conversation, if it could be called that, beforehand she caught a glimpse of a small piece of paper caught between the plate and the tray. Given her already diminished appetite she set the silverware down and reached for the slip with one hand while the other grabbed the plate to leverage it.

It turned out to be three slips, two of which colored sky blue and inscribed in black ink whereas the paper that caught her attention was a simple white note.

"While everyone said it was impossible, I had proven them wrong! As a bonus I managed to scrounge up some help for Leon at the store for the next month, meaning I'm all yours starting the next month.

With Love,

Jake."

A dry heave of a small laugh soundlessly escaped her at first that was quickly followed by another. A small chuckle finally arose from her as she fought to keep herself from staring at the tickets. She failed in that. Upon a closer look she found little white slips that were plane tickets hiding just beneath the ones to an otherwise _booked_ opera she had once cast a wistful eye on in both the city and state of _New York_.

_Snnniiiff!_

"What bad timing," she managed to mutter to herself as an uneasy, bitter, loving smile graced her lips while tears were just starting to run down her cheeks.

XVX

Director's Office, Undisclosed location

"I'll be the first to admit it: We have ourselves not only an embarrassing situation on hand Nine-One but a potentially grave one at that on our hands my dear."

"What is it boss?"

If the lights dominating the circular office wasn't enough illumination for either of its occupants, then the one of many screens built into the curving walls served as a powerful enough light to reveal who was in the office. Sitting behind a desk was a thin bald man whose eyes were hidden away, possibly replaced even, by a pair of blue tinted glasses unattached to one another. He wore a black one piece suit with an opening large enough to reveal a pale yellow turtle neck for a shirt. He was in his late forties at worst, the only hair left to him was that of a crescent moon mustache and his thick eyebrows which were both colored in a grayed beige. As for the other occupant, she was a young woman in her early twenties. She was a blond woman of blue eyes, her ears adorned with silver earrings of a blue tint themselves with a blue gem at the end of each. Her garb did nothing to hide her curves as it amounted to a short skirt white dress that had two panels of black that left her bust alone while a matching pair of knee length high heeled boots kept her feet from making contact with the ground.

On the oval screen the image of a brown haired, clean shaven man in his early twenties being shown from the waist up. The most remarkable feature, if any, to him outside of a white long sleeved shirt and a blue jean apron was that his hair was simply an unkempt mess that seemed to only heed the bed as a hair stylist. "Three months ago one of our agents was traveling to a secured sight by using the bus lines within national soil when he lost a suitcase containing sensitive documents military documents regarding the European theater in the event that a sudden war was declared. This man, a Mister Jacob Wickerson, by complete accident received the briefcase under the believe it was his while our agent made off with what was actually his own."

"Embarrassing indeed..." Nine-One coyly mused before the attitude was lost to a more somber one. "Other than that, what went wrong?"

"To his credit he did try to return the suitcase by way of turning it into the Police Station of his hometown upon his arrival, of course by the time we've learned of its entry into Verbine it was long since too late to discreetly remove it from his renewed custody of the case without rousing suspicion..."

"You don't mean..."

"Unfortunately I do. In a way its a blessing in disguise that proves we still have some holes to close up in our defense and explain away the strange coded frequencies the lads in communications have been detecting as of late since the latest changes to our surveillance protocols." Another screen came to life, right next to its predecessor with only a narrow curved beam separating the oval screens. It depicted of a tall brunette woman that held some semblance of a smoldering fire hovering above a pair of brown eyes. Upon her head was a dark brown ushanka (russian fur cap) with its flaps lashed to the sides of the cap. She was wearing a black trench coat that did an excellent job of hiding away most of her figure in combination of a pair of black gloves that seemingly melded into the coat. From what skin that could be seen, which essentially left only her face, her skin, let alone her face, was as pale as it was creamy that held no blemish to it whatsoever.

"The agent who originally was sent in to confirm and if possible retrieve the case had stumbled across this little vixen in an outing with Mister Wickerson, one of many we soon came to learn as we did our homework."

A pensive frown adorned the lips of Nine-One as she studied the supple features of the woman in the photograph. "Who is she?"

"For her alias in Verbine, Maine, she is Olivia Vanders, a photographer roaming the world on the behest of her "magazine's publishing firm" you could say. As for her agent name we only know her sign as "Four-Thirteen," and agent for our Eastern Bloc counterparts..." The director frowned as he swiveled his chair to look upon the face of the enemy agent, a scowl on his lips as he leaned back into the chair. "Unfortunately we do not have more to go on than that... they were crafty enough to keep most of the information to themselves while the scraps we do have seem to only mock the agents that sacrificed themselves to get it."

A moment of silence was spared between the two as the Director reminisced, his mind only pulling out of his past upon the asking of a question. "What is her relationship to Wiskerson if I may ask."

Immediately a third screen came on to showcase not one picture but several of the previous two in varying choices of cothing both casual as well as high classed. One depicted the two of simply holding hands as they walked down the street. Another presented them in each other's grasp as they danced the night away in what appeared to be the reception of someone else's wedding. A third was them sharing an intimate kiss with closed eyes in an alleyway as the first undeniable signs of winter presented itself around them.

These were just to name a few of the small litter she could easily make out on the screen.

"I see," she said finally.

"Your Mission, Nine-One, is ultimately to ensure that briefcase doesn't fall into wrong hands if it hasn't already. If you can, capture her alive for interrogation, if you can't them terminate her before she has a chance to escape if possible. We don't want to run the risk of enemy being informed of any other info she managed to collect during her stay here after all."

"And if the information has been leaked?"

To this the Director frowned once more as his elbows came to a rest on his table whilst his bawled hands supported his chin. "The secondary objective would then become the priority if it has been leaked. Even if it seems like spitting in the wind, try to destroy the information if the opportunity presents itself; even the smallest of details can decide the outcome of a battle if its been recognized."

"I understand sir, I'll get started right away." If the Director had an issue with her abrupt departure then he made no show of it, at least as far as the agent was concern.

"Nine-One." Or rather he wasn't quick enough to respond if that was the case. "Good luck out there!"

The bald man couldn't help but smirk as he watched the subtle easing tension of her body take place as his subordinate left. His mild satisfaction however did not last as he came to the image of Four-Thirteen which faded into nonexistence with the rest of the pictures.

**A/N: Just another idea I wished to write out before I got, the urge to write being especially more powerful when my request for this particular category to be installed and I was afflicted with a (possibly) mild paranoia that it would have been taken down soon if I didn't do anything before the week was out.**

**Unfortunately this story ('shockingly' enough to those who have stuck with me so far) this story will not be regularly updated...**

**If you have issue with this then I feel I must ask that you refrain from outright murdering me with frozen fish... and leave my face alone so I can have an open casket funeral if it comes to that... Jimmy shots are definitely prohibited.**

**Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No Refunds.**

**Also I would like to note that I only know the English language and as such I have no idea how to speak, write, let alone read another language outside a few select words to showcase I can only speak English. For all my translation issues I resort to Google Translator with the phonetic function on (Gives me the written translation of what I want as well as what it would sound like if it was spoken out loud).**

**Yay Google!**

(Russian *1) "Please don't go..."

(Russian *2) "Four-Thirteen, report!"

(Russian *3) "Four-Thirteen reporting ser."

(Russian *4) "Any news of Western Bloc activities?"

(Russian *5) "It is the same, sir. The only change there is that now snow is falling outside my window."

(Russian *6) "Very well. Report back to Germany for reassignment within the month."

**Once more-**

**Monekybandit2, making off with your attention (again)! And the Tostitos too.**


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